Coffee and Cigarettes
by Joon
Summary: Things change in degrees after Jack's departure. Some things remain the same. Spoilers for season 1.


It takes about two weeks after Jack's disappearance before everyone finds their coping mechanisms. Gwen throws herself into finding how best to take the reins as the new leader after Owen all but gifts her the position with a large bow on top. Tosh obsessively recalibrates every bit of surveillance equipment they have, until it seems not even a fly can exit or enter the Hub without someone knowing about it. Ianto's almost goes unnoticed. But Gwen spots the packs of vacuum sealed coffee grinds in the bin that are no doubt the industrial strength blends that Jack so loved and frequently requested. Owen's is predictably the most noticed and most reviled. He takes up smoking. 

Tosh chastises him about it constantly, demanding to know how a doctor of all people could indulge in something so hazardous. Gwen so obviously doesn't like it either, but only grimly reminds that he has to pass the lung capacity portion of his next physical like everyone else, despite being the one to administer them. The smoking is not even something Owen can sneak in privately as he's forced to walk across the entire Hub to go outside if he wants to take one in. Never mind that now winter's here, he's risking pneumonia every time he feels the need for a break, which is growing more and more frequent with each passing day.

Today Owen lasted all of one hour after coming back from a field run with Gwen and Tosh. He took a glance at the program he'd left running before heading out and whatever the screen told him was enough to send him stomping determinedly out the Hub, his pack already out. Ianto supposes it might be sort of a betrayal, bringing Owen coffee outside when Tosh and Gwen are hoping that having to endure unforgiving Cardiff winter would break the stubborn doctor from his habit. But the fact is, Ianto could think of several other worse things Owen could be doing instead and takes pity on him when he sees the small figure on the CCTV, shivering while taking nervous pulls on his death sticks. 

Owen is all but hopping on one leg from the cold when Ianto joins him. The Plass is empty of any other humans, all of them having had the good sense to stay indoors. Even under his winding muffler, thick coat and suit, Ianto could feel the wind cut through him. The frigid temperature makes his eyes water and he squints as he stiffly makes his way toward Owen who looks exceedingly grateful when he spots the thermos in the Welshman's gloved hand.

"Cheers, Ianto," Owen gets out between his chattering teeth. He barely manages to unscrew the cap, his fingers are so numb. But he resolutely refuses to ask for help as that seems a little too pathetic. After two gulps of the wonderfully bitter drink, Owen feels a lot warmer and immediately craves another cigarette, the perfect companion to coffee. Ianto doesn't say anything when he lights up again, which Owen appreciates a lot at the moment. He knows he'll be able to quit cold turkey once he's ready. He'd done it before after completing his exams back at University when he'd chain smoked his way through. "Aren't the girls going to have your head for enabling me?"

Ianto shrugs, which turns into a shiver at the last moment. He digs his already gloved hands deeper into his coat. "I weighed the pros and cons. They'll get over it. And you're much more pleasant after you've had a fag."

Owen responds by making sure his exhaled smoke hits Ianto down wind. 

While the Welshman has no further excuse to stay outside, he does anyway. It's inhumanely cold, but it feels strangely better to be standing outside. Even if it is just to watch Owen give himself lung cancer. The two of them never really had that much to talk about, unless it was to exchange professional words of mutual disdain. Especially after the whole Bilis incident. Ironically, through, this meant he and Owen were almost always on the same page when it came to one another. And that synchronization strangely made him the easiest to be around these days.

Owen doesn't complain or make any sort of acerbic comment at him lingering. Instead he's alternating sips of coffee with drags on his cigarette. His eyes are focused on something not in front of them, and Ianto guesses he's seeing the computer screen back in his lab. "Did you find anything?" he asks casually.

For a member of a supposed covert organization, Owen's terrible at keeping secrets. More than once he's forgotten to shut down his computer, letting the last person in charge of shutting down the Hub (Ianto) to clearly see that he's been running various tests on Jack's blood samples they had in storage.

"Fucking Harkness," Owen growls, flicking his cigarette. "Typical of him and his cells to not even give me a fair chance at figuring out what's wrong with him."

"Wrong with him?"

"What he needs that special doctor of his to cure."

At the mention of D word, Ianto immediately conjures up the image of the tall man in glasses with direction-manic hair who had been running around Torchwood One before the entire place had gone to hell. He's talked to Tosh about this who insisted that he was a shorter man who looked more like a U-boat captain than the man-child Ianto described. 

"He's not really just a medical doctor," Ianto supplies.

"Yeah, well, neither am I," Owen answers, bitterly. "I've tried every test on his blood to see how the immortality thing works. The cells just keep...coming back. They just spring back up like they were never dead. It doesn't make any sense how it happens."

"Why do you need to know that?"

Owen gives him a look like he's being unnaturally slow. "Because I needed to know how they regenerate if I'm was going to find a cure for it." Speaking in the past tense, the shorter man looks disappointed and glum.

It dawns on Ianto that maybe this was the other coping mechanism of Owen's that went unnoticed until now. That after everything that happened with Jack being killed and then coming back to life to fix the world ending error that Owen more or less felt the bulk of responsibility for, the former second in command was attempting to find the thing that Jack wanted most. A cure for his immortality. And if perhaps, Owen found the cure, Jack would come back. And he could feel less shit about every event leading up to the captain's departure.

Ianto might smile a little at the unexpectedly naive optimism from the normally cynical Owen, but his face feels too frozen for that. The Welshman, for one, would have liked to think that throwing out Jack's coffee blends had been cathartic enough for him to accept the fact that Jack would probably never return. Of course, if that had been the case, he probably wouldn't have freaked out quite so much when Gwen suggested implementing a different method of liasing with the PM's office. Maybe a few more days and he'll stop starting every time he hears the faintest noise when he's alone in the Hub. Or worse, strain to try and hear something that wasn't one of Tosh's computers beeping or Myfanwy rustling her wings. Hoping to hear that one unique, pulsing sound that he'd only heard once before as a recording from the files of Torchwood One.

"It's all useless, anyway," Owen grumbles, breaking into Ianto's thoughts. "A waste of time. I'm done with it all. Man's gotta know when to move on." He crumples up his now empty cigarette packet and moves like he's about to toss the garbage straight onto the ground. But he catches the preemptive look Ianto's giving him and surprises both of them by stuffing the crushed pack into his pocket instead.

A gust of wind whistles violently past them, nearly knocking Ianto off his feet. "God, it's bloody cold!" Owen shouts against the blast. "I'm going back inside. My balls are going to freeze off soon."

"Can't have that," Ianto says, dryly, taking back the mostly empty thermos. "You might need them one day."

"Funny," Owen replies in a tone that suggests it's anything but. "Speaking of useful, when're you going to talk to the Mistress about helping out on the field?" 

"Owen, if I joined you all every time you go out, I'd never get anything done."

Crossing his arms in a dual attempt to look authoritative as well as trapping in some body heat, Owen matches Ianto's pace back toward the entrance. "Get what done? Brewing oceans of coffee? Making sure the tourist's center upholds that cheery dank look?"

"Yes," Ianto answers, curtly. "And filing."

"Oh, bugger the filing," scoffs Owen, speaking as someone who's never filed a single sheet of paper in his life. "The three of us are getting run ragged every time. If getting my coffee an hour later means you'll be wrestling down the next rabid Weevil, I'll take it." When Ianto doesn't reply, Owen sighs. "Honestly, Ianto. You're support, right? And that's where we need it. On the outside. I'm tired of having to do all the heavy lifting," he adds, keeping his words just this side of blase.

It takes a minute for Ianto to get that this is Owen trying to be nice. It's Owen not so much drawing him out for assistance on the field (which they do need) but giving him a chance to interact with something other than the coffee pot for 80 percent of his day. Realistically, Ianto guesses that if he does start going out with them, Owen would probably be the first to start bitching about the lack of ready coffee upon their return. Still, the gesture does count for something. A lot, actually.

"I'll talk to Gwen," says the Welshman. "Thanks," he adds. 

Owen nods. "And if she asks, I've only had the one fag, right?"

"Owen, I'm sure Tosh's been watching you on the CCTV," Ianto replies, gesturing toward where he knows the vantage points are as they walk past.

Owen gives a cheerful grin and an enthusiastic two finger salute in the direction indicated for Tosh's benefit. Ianto rolls his eyes.

THE END


End file.
